


Short Circuit

by theladyscribe



Series: Metropolis [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: All My Trade Feels Without the AU, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Cyborgs, Friendship, Gen, Pittsburgh Penguins, Trades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:05:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9417758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe
Summary: "We've never had a cyborg on the team before," Crosby says, "but we've got your back."





	

**Author's Note:**

> The AU that just won't quit. This is technically a prequel to Metropolis, but it can stand alone. 
> 
> This was supposed to be ~500 words of robot body horror, but instead it's 1500 words of the start of a friendship. There is still a bit of robot body surgery mentioned, but it is not graphic.
> 
> Prompts included: angst, androids and robots, body swap (though there wound up being no swapping of bodies, alas).

The trade itself isn't a shock. The shock is _where_.

Out of the eight teams on Phil's list, the Penguins were always the long-shot, the hail mary he marked down when he tried to think of teams that a) would make him happy, b) were cyborg-friendly or at least cyborg-ambivalent, and c) could afford him. He'd written Pittsburgh in even though he knew that they'd probably never make a deal for him with Toronto, not with their top-heavy lineup and minuscule amount of cap space. It was just his little way of saying "fuck you" to the Leafs management.

Amanda always told him his smart mouth would get him in trouble one day.

*

A flurry of activity follows the shock. Phil fields phone calls and texts for several days afterward. He answers the important ones: his family and close friends, the Penguins' front office, his agent. Sidney Crosby even calls him from the putting green of a Canadian golf course to welcome him to the team.

"We've never had a cyborg on the team before," Crosby says, "but we've got your back."

It's the kind of statement Phil would expect of a captain on a new team, but from Crosby, it sounds utterly sincere.

"Thanks," Phil says, and he means it.

"For sure."

Crosby then launches into a treatise on the Pittsburgh area housing market that makes Phil wonder whether the man is in the wrong profession. Crosby apparently took it upon himself to research what sort of homes are popular among cyborgs, which is disarming, to say the least. Phil has never even had a front office do that kind of research for him, never mind a teammate.

When Crosby pauses for breath, Phil interrupts him. "I should probably let you get back to your golf tournament, eh?"

"Oh, yeah," Crosby says, laughing at himself. "Sorry."

"Nah, man, it's cool," Phil assures him. "Send me the link to your realtor. And thanks again."

*

Phil has to be in Pittsburgh for his physical two weeks after the trade. It's standard operating procedure with all cyborgs in the league. You get traded, you get checked. Ostensibly it's so your new team's cyborg tech can start to learn the ins and outs of your wiring, but everybody knows it's really to make sure your old team hasn't tried any funny business. It was put into place after Lindros' retirement — there are some Flyers fans who still insist that his injuries were the result of deliberate tampering by the Nordiques, and not from being slammed around the ice by enforcers.

Phil knows it's bullshit, but it doesn't preclude him from getting the check-up.

At least the Penguins have made an effort to make the trip from Toronto worth it, scheduling meetings with front office staff as well as with the cyborg tech.

He spends most of the morning with the front office: he meets a couple of the assistant GMs, talks briefly with the equipment manager, and has a series of one-on-ones with people from public relations. The PR team lets him set boundaries on how much and what kinds of publicity he wants to do, and they discuss what he should expect from his media availability. He feels pretty good about it, glad to feel like they're excited to have him, even though he's not yet put on the black-and-gold.

His last stop is the cyborg tech's office. Phil has spoken with Scott before; he called to discuss Phil's specs and power systems, in case they needed to order anything before the season starts. He seems pretty knowledgeable, certainly more so than the tech Phil worked with in Boston, and at least on par with Gabby in Toronto.

Scott has a visitor when Phil walks into his office. Sidney Crosby is leaning against a wall, watching Scott lay out his tool kit. When he sees Phil, he pushes off the wall and holds out his hand for a shake.

"Good to see you," Crosby says.

"Yeah," Phil responds before turning to Scott. "Nice to meet you, man."

Scott offers his fist for a bump. "You, too. Hope you wore your sexy underwear today, 'cause you're gonna have to drop trou for me."

"Uh, should I just see myself out?" Crosby asks, laughing, though Phil detects a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

"You can stay if you want," Phil says. "I don't mind."

"So long as you don't puke on me," Scott says. "I had that happen one time when I was in training."

Phil laughs. "Bozie passed out once when he walked in on me being triaged after taking a slash to the wrist."

"I —" Crosby looks nonplussed.

"You get squeamish watching, like, tv show autopsies?" Scott asks, peering at Crosby from under his eyebrows.

"No?"

"You'll probably be fine, then. There's a trash can by the door if you need it, though." He turns back to Phil. "Shall we get started?"

"Shut the door?" Phil asks Crosby, who does as requested.

Phil removes his shorts and hops up on the examination table while Scott wheels over a machine that looks like an EKG monitor with added USB ports. Scott flips a switch and the thing lights up, whirring gently.

"Ready?" Scott asks, already reaching for Phil's upper thigh, where his boot ports are tucked under a couple layers of synthetic skin and muscle.

"Yep." Phil hazards a glance toward Crosby, who watches them curiously. Phil figures he's never seen a 'borg get worked on, maybe has never knowingly seen one up close, except on the ice. Lots of people go through life without really registering the number of 'borgs around them. If he weren't Phil Kessel, the 'borg who couldn't save Toronto, he's pretty sure most of the NHL would have no idea he's a cyborg.

Phil is deep enough in his thoughts that Scott's first cut of his synthskin makes him jump.

"Sorry," Scott says. "Shoulda warned you."

"Nah," Phil says. His eyes flick back up to Crosby, who is looking anywhere but at Scott cutting open Phil's leg. Crosby has lost some of his color, but doesn't look like he's in danger of passing out. Phil asks anyway. "You okay over there?"

Crosby looks back at him, staring Phil directly in the eye. "Yeah, I'm fine. I didn't realize it'd be…"

"Boot port's in the thigh," Phil explains. "Big enough to cushion the hardware it needs, but easier access than memory—" he taps his head "—and battery—" and his chest. He grins at Crosby. "I've had my thigh cut open so many times, I barely even think about it anymore."

"Gonna plug you into the data drive now," Scott interrupts.

"The worst part," Phil tells Crosby. "Like one of those devil's drop things at the fair."

Phil leans back and closes his eyes, fighting a wave of nausea as Scott downloads information to the drive. The sensation is always disorienting, no matter how many times Phil experiences it. It's as if he can feel the nanobytes zipping through his body and into the drive, everything rushing to the boot port.

The sensation lessens after a couple minutes and then fades out completely. Phil opens his eyes. Crosby is staring at the data drive now. There's something sharp about the way he watches the downloaded files appear on the screen, like they're a puzzle he wants to solve. If Phil didn't know better, he'd think Crosby had a little bit of 'borg in him, too.

"All done," Scott announces, moving to unplug the drive's USB. "Just need to sew you up and you're good to go."

Scott makes quick work of stitching Phil's synthskin back together. When he's done, Phil is impressed: the synthskin is already fusing, the tiny stitches disappearing without a trace.

"Thanks, buddy," he says, hopping down from the examination table.

"Of course. Scans should be finished later today — you want me to call when they're done?"

"Sounds good." Phil finishes zipping his shorts back and turns to Crosby. He's got his color back, though he looks like he has a million and one questions he wants to ask. Phil preempts him. "Lunch?"

"Yeah, sure," Crosby says, flashing a genuine, if tentative, grin.

Phil grins back. "Know anywhere that makes a mean hotdog?"

Phil sees the moment he gets the joke. Crosby laughs and says, "We can probably find you a whole stand if you want."

"Great, I'm starving."

They make their goodbyes to Scott and head out the door, Crosby already starting in on the list of his favorite restaurants nearby, in order of the quality of their hotdogs. He lets out a giggle when he gets to number three — Mad Mex Tacos — and completely breaks when he hits number five — Yama Sushi — unable to keep from laughing at his own joke. It's both terrible and endearing, and any reservations Phil might have had about his new captain's earnest attempt to put him at ease dissipate with Crosby's laughter.

Phil thinks that maybe Pittsburgh will be more than just a fresh start.


End file.
